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So much comes up in silence, even somebody else’s silence. I was struck in an overwhelming manner by Gentleness. Notice, when Ulay approaches the table where Marina is seated. He’s a goodlooking man, dapper and obviously confident. But all of that softens in the second he looks at her and walks up to sit down. And he waits for her to open her eyes, eager anticipation but also vulnerable and hopeful.

Next, I noticed Marina’s reaction. Surprise. Wonder. Excitement. And then pain and love and fondness and memories in an uncontrollable current. The smile on Ulay’s face when she reaches out her hands. The sheer gentleness in his nod, the unmistakable male conditioning of ‘It’s okay, I’m okay’ even in a man used to thinking about and expressing emotion, as an artist. The gentleness, the utter gentleness in each of them and in their meeting.

I think I’ve forgotten to be gentle. There’s a place inside me where I feel what each of them feels but it gets overshadowed by pride, by fear, by arrogance, by wanting to create an impression. And it gets forgotten and lost. But it’s there deep down.

Gentleness brings forth gentleness, is the lesson I’d like to take from this. It’s so scary because it means in some way, promising to be gentle and trusting that the world will be gentle back. That it won’t hurt the tenderest part of you that you offer up to it. Yes.

But gentle has a serenity about it that I haven’t felt as yet. It feels devoid of the trembling that fear brings, the hard grit that the courage to face that fear adds. It just is, itself, whole and pure.

Like this:

I miss you like that vague empty feeling in your stomach when you wake up suddenly at 3 a.m. and then remember you had a great dinner. I hold the feeling of missing you, like I’d savour the memory of that dinner, at 3 a.m.

Like this:

You watch them speak to and of the one they love.
And think, unflinchingly, that they don’t speak to or of you that way.
The only part that hurts is the realisation that they once used to.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

When you cannot remember what you were thinking or how you could ever have made that decision and conclude that you were a completely different person then- that’s when you know that you’re completely over them.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Sometimes getting over someone or something is giving yourself permission to be happy.
At other times it’s letting go of the luxury of being sad.
And occasionally, it’s just realizing that you are bored of misery.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

You talk about forgiving and forgetting like one follows the other
And some people say that they can forgive but never forget
But in my mind, that’s still vendetta since the memory stays alive and hurtful
I’d much rather forget, even if not forgive
At least life can go on unbound by a straining bond

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I am not sorry that you are sad I’m no longer a part of your life
You must be punished for the crime of having hurt me, after all
But I’m just sorry that it all still matters to me
Probably even more than my absence matters to you.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Love is the experience of a person, but also emotions, places, mementos and other people. Being okay with the person is just the first step and not even the easiest one at that. Complete closure is when the entire world that you’ve built and shared with the person starts to feel alright again. It is when, finally…

Friends don’t walk on eggshells around you. Friends aren’t unsure of how to behave with both of you.
Houses, roads, parks and shops don’t make you catch your breath because you were there with them once.
It doesn’t feel ‘wrong’ to be at a certain restaurant with someone else.
Watching a romantic movie or hearing such a song doesn’t send you down a trip of nostalgia.
And you don’t feel guilty about a gift because you’ve gifted someone else the same thing before.

But then, by that premise, there is no such a thing as complete closure. Love is a color that taints you forever.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

If you don’t care anymore whether they love you or not, perhaps you never really did.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Fear of loneliness is a good enough reason for a relationship, even if it isn’t a noble one. At least half the relationships around are founded on it and survive quite well.

Sheer habit is another such. What’s wrong with being in a rut? Some people call it stability.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Lack of excitement is a good enough reason for a break-up.
So is lack of commitment.
Far more than lack of love.

For love may be the name we give the ride, but excitement is the fuel and commitment is the nuts-and-bolts that holds the carriage together. And we all know what happens when you try going anywhere without fuel or in a cart that falls apart.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The experience of being loved is really as moving, if not more, than the act of loving.
So believe it or not, no matter how unfair it all was, there is justice in the end.
And they will probably miss you far more than you will miss them, when this is done.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Sometimes a person can do you a great service by not letting you fall in love with them because they think you deserve better.
Even if you disagree, if that’s what they think, they are probably right.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

You have the right to be as miserable for as long as you want.
The grave stupidity has already been committed when you fell in love anyway.
Why feel ashamed now?

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Cheating and lying are unpardonable.
And it is divine to forgive, a sign of shining, enlightening love.
But no one said you had to be a superhero.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Breaking up can make you feel unlovable, like you were never really loved after all.
But there are many reasons to not love a person.
Duty, ego, fear, indifference, commitment-phobia, emotional detachment.
All of them realistic and logical, none deeply noble.

And there can be only one reason to love a person.
Because you do, that’s all.
That’s neither logical nor noble.
But yes, it is wonderful.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Some of us hold on simply to assure ourselves that we were really, truly, honest-to-goodness, till-death-do-us-apart, irrevocably, madly, fiercely in love.

Perseverance is more important than happiness to some. And ah, how hard we try!

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

If you tried and the other didn’t, consider that a gift offered wasn’t accepted. Whose loss is that?

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

There are plenty of other fish in the sea.
But you can’t fish anymore if the last one reeled you in hook, line and sinker.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

When it comes down to it, no one is indispensable. If they had been, your lungs would have been attached to their nostrils and your stomach, to their food pipe. That’s a far more practical apparatus.

A lover cannot have been a Siamese twin. And vice versa.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Oddly enough, the very things that attracted you to each other in the first place are the biggest reasons for your breaking up.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Part of mourning the death of the relationship is grieving the loss of their affection for you.
The other part is grieving the loss of your affection for them.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

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she winced
Every morning waking up with a bad headache
A foul taste in her mouth and the most unpleasant feeling of all…
That the world was just the way she had left it the previous night
Improved not a whit, insurmountable problems waiting to plague her again
No respite.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The night

Evening was a haze of cigarette smoke and alcohol
Replacing the daze of screaming and insomnia
Tonight, bodies entangled
An ode to the twisted tango of her emotions all week
Yet, underneath the stupor…

Dad, how could you? Forgive me, ma, just couldn’t take it anymore so I ran away. Leave me alone!

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Morning after

She thought she might’ve been able to call them moans of passion
They were after all…moans…of passion

It was just great sex, wasn’t it?

She shrugged, unhappy realization

It never is.

A night of great passion is always followed by a hangover. It felt exactly the same as every other morning this week.

On my other blog: XX Factor: XX Factor

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